


Worm Infestations and Other Evil Spirits

by voidknight



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast), モブサイコ100 | Mob Psycho 100
Genre: Canon-Typical Worms (The Magnus Archives), Elias Bouchard Being a Bastard, Gen, Humor, Season/Series 01, Technically an Unhappy Ending, The Beholding, but technically has spoilers for tma s4, guess who's watching mp100 for the first time, i love that that's a tag, silly but also somewhat chilling?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:40:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24926305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voidknight/pseuds/voidknight
Summary: Martin, sick of worrying about worms, decides that what the Magnus Institute needs is an exorcism. Spirits and Such Consultation Office is happy to provide. More or less.
Comments: 17
Kudos: 49





	Worm Infestations and Other Evil Spirits

**Author's Note:**

> wrote this at like 1 am after brainstorming crossover ideas with @GothicSeer, enjoy

It’s day 3 of his extended overnight stay in the backrooms of the Magnus Institute’s Archives, and Martin Blackwood has to say that he doesn’t feel much safer. Yes, he’s only seen one worm in here since he “moved in,” so to speak. Yes, he’s triple-checked every door, made sure every crack is sealed. But that doesn’t stop the panic that surges through him at every rustle in the darkness, every creak of the still, silent building.

Tonight, it’s barely 10 PM when he decides he simply cannot stand it anymore.

Everyone else in the Institute has checked out for the night, and Martin feels so very alone. But every problem has a solution, doesn’t it? Get rid of the worms, get rid of the anxiety, right? Why can’t they just get rid of the worms? Well, logically, he knows that calling an exterminator will do absolutely nothing.

Maybe a  _ supernatural _ exterminator, he thinks, and chuckles nervously to himself. Then he pulls out his laptop and looks up if that’s an actual thing that exists.

Turns out, it is.

Martin has definitely walked past Spirits and Such Consultation Office before. He only remembers it because he mentioned it to Jon once (“I don’t suppose they’re actual psychics, do you? Didn’t they move here from Japan a few years ago? Do you think London has more ghosts than Japan does?”) and Jon had immediately shut it down, tearing into the “obviously fraudulent” business in the same way he does with seemingly every single statement he reads. Of course Martin hadn’t brought it up again after that, but still. It was a point of curiosity.

He is… admittedly not  _ very _ hopeful that an exorcism will solve the supernatural worm problem, but maybe he just wants to see someone. Anyone. Even a self-proclaimed psychic from a shady-looking office that has somehow managed to stay afloat.

So he calls up Spirits and Such on the Institute landline (Jane Prentiss, regrettably, still has his phone), spews out some nonsense about “evil worm spirits” that Jon would probably eviscerate him for, and hangs up before the man on the other end (Reigen?) can ask too many questions.

When Mr. Reigen Arataka and his short assistant turn up, Martin has to be very careful letting them in. Can’t be too careful when worms are encircling the building. But once the three of them are standing in the Archive lobby, Martin finally gets a good look at who exactly he is dealing with.

Reigen looks more or less like a regular businessman in a suit and tie. His stance is casual, and he surveys the space with an almost comical level of scrutiny. His assistant, it turns out, is an actual kid. Teenager? Whatever. He’s in what Martin  _ thinks _ is a school uniform, and stands completely still as his boss ambles about, apparently searching for worms.

“Please don’t call me in this late again,” mumbles the boy, and Martin feels bad for him.

“Do you… sense anything?” he asks Reigen, somewhat tepidly.

“I definitely saw some worms outside,” Reigen proclaims, with too much enthusiasm. “You seem to have an infestation!”

“Y-yes, I’m aware—”

He whips what looks like a slab of pink salt and a grater out of his bag. “This! Is the purest Himalayan salt you will find anywhere. Spirits hate it! Sprinkle some of this around the building, and you’ll be completely safe from evil worms.”

“Um,” says Martin, but Reigen is already grinding way too much salt into the doorway. The noise it makes is not a pleasant one. Martin is beginning to question his decision to call this guy in here.

“Master,” says the boy suddenly.

Reigen ceases his salt antics. “What is it, Mob?”

The boy—Mob’s—eyes are wide and vacant, as if he’s staring not at the wall, but  _ through _ it. “There  _ is _ an evil spirit here.”

“Of course there is! This young man told us all about the—”

“No,” murmurs Mob. He blinks, the faintest flash of surprise passing across his face. “It’s more than the worms. It’s…”

He gasps and takes a step back, gaze falling to the floor. His previously-calm face is now filled with tension. Martin rushes forward, unsure of the situation but wanting to help as much as he can.

“It’s looking at me,” says Mob quietly, and a chill runs down Martin’s spine.

He tries to make his voice as gentle as possible, despite its shakiness. “Yeah, a lot of weird stuff happens here. But right now we really need to get rid of those—”

_ “Yes,” _ interrupts Reigen, much too loudly. He takes a couple steps down the hallway, then turns on his heels and returns to the lobby, hand raised to his chin. “This  _ is _ a high level evil spirit, Mob. Fitting for such an institution! You’d better leave this one to me.”

Mob has gone very still again. His eyes are focused intently on the carpet. Martin can swear he can see the hairs on the back of his neck prick up.

“Actually… I think this one is much too big for either of us.”

“That’s right,” comes a silky voice from the doorway, and Martin’s heart stops.

Reigen’s expression flicks through about ten different emotions and finally rests on  _ pissed. _ He quirks one eyebrow at Elias Bouchard as he steps over the line of pink salt, regarding the interloper with an odd mixture of smugness and contempt.

“And you must be—”

“Elias Bouchard, head of the Magnus Institute. I thought Martin would have better judgement than to call in a con artist, but my assistants surprise me every day.”

Reigen’s mouth drops open. He starts to protest, but Elias has already stepped past him, sharp eyes fixed upon Martin.

“Please, Martin, don’t worry. You’re perfectly safe in the Institute. There’s no need to—”

Mob’s head snaps up. He raises a hand, fingers splayed, pointing its palm towards Elias. His face is set in a look of determination. “This man is possessed by an evil spirit.”

“That’s ridiculous,” protests Elias, but there is a  _ fear  _ in his eyes that Martin has never seen before. His own mind is drawing a blank; he cannot conjure up any sort of reaction that would appropriately fit Mob’s utter conviction.

A wind picks up around Mob’s heels, and his entire body begins to glow a swirling, otherworldly blue. Okay, maybe Reigen wasn’t kidding about the whole psychic thing. But what scares Martin the most is the smile that forms on Elias’ lips, a smile that belongs to something much older than him, something much more sinister.

“All right,” he says. “Kill me, if you must, Kageyama Shigeo.  _ Exorcise _ me. Is that the word you use? What will you do with the shell of my body once it’s done? And don’t tell me you haven’t sensed the threads that bind me to this place. If I die,  _ he” _ —and he points a casual finger at Martin—“dies as well.”

Mob lets out a little gasp, the glow fading as quickly as it sprang into being. Elias chuckles. It’s a sound that shakes Martin to his core.

_ “Mob,” _ hisses Reigen.

Elias turns slightly, pulls a crisp 50-pound note from his pocket, and slides it into Reigen’s hand. “For your troubles. I apologize that my assistant called you here, especially at such an hour. I assure you that the situation is under control.”

Reigen looks at Elias, then at Martin, then at Mob, faltering. He finally straightens up and beckons Mob back towards the entrance. Mob lowers his arm, but the tension has not left his body. A bead of sweat trickles down his forehead. He reluctantly follows his boss out into the night.

The full weight of Elias’ gaze drops onto Martin, and for a moment it feels like he’s being skinned alive. He shrinks back, heart pounding.

“This interaction never occurred,” says Elias simply. So very casually, like he’s directing Martin to clean up a spill in the kitchen. “You didn’t call the Spirits and Such Consultation Office, you never lied on your CV, and you aren’t at all infatuated with Jonathan Sims. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes,” Martin breathes.

“Excellent. I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Have a good evening.” He strolls out of the door to the Archives, then suddenly turns, gives Martin a small smile. “Don’t let the worms bite.”

And then he’s gone, and Martin thinks he is even more afraid of what’s  _ inside _ the Institute than anything that might be trying to get in.

**Author's Note:**

> i feel like there's a lot more to be done with this crossover - it's a fun concept! i don't have any concrete ideas for what more i would do with it, but who knows; maybe one day i'll write some more


End file.
